


A Second Chance

by Rei382



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rei382/pseuds/Rei382
Summary: Life circumstances brought Draco to work at a coffee shop to make a living. Life circumstances brought Harry to walk into that coffee shop and offer a new start.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74
Collections: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest





	A Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to orpheous87 for the wonderful beta and the help!! <3

It was a busy day at _The Magic Beans_ , just like any Monday morning. You’d think one would get used to that after a while, but there was no way in hell Draco could ever get used to being yelled at; to the endless complaints – mostly about the amount of time it took to get a bloody cup of coffee out; to having various drinks – most of them hot – spilt all over him and the floor. Maybe he just wasn’t that good at it, even after two whole months of working at this stupid coffee shop, but he didn’t care for it that much. It was money, and with money, he could buy food and pay the bills, and that was the important thing. Especially considering there was no one else who could do that, with his father being in prison and his mother spending most of the day in bed, unable to do anything more complicated than going to the loo on her own, consumed by her depression. And it wasn’t like anyone would hire him for anything more serious than something such as a barista, or a waiter. Not with his last name being what it was.

At least he managed to get over the humiliation of working at a coffee shop. Somewhat, anyway. He didn’t think he could ever fully get over being forced to serve people, or being treated like a bloody house-elf.

He was busy adding some lactose-free milk to the Vanilla Latte he was just making for a witch dressed in fancy robes named Mary. Or at least, that’s what he thought she said her name was when he asked her, and she will just have to deal with being named Mary, at least until she finishes her stupid Vanilla Latte.

“Malfoy, please let go of this and go man the till. You’re too slow here,” the cup, charmed to keep the drink inside it hot and its outside warm just to the right temperature to hold it comfortably, was snatched from his hands as he was pushed towards the cash register. He mumbled a swear word, hoping no one had heard it, and moved his hair out of his face as he looked up to greet the next customer with the brightest smile he could muster, which probably wasn’t such a good smile because he felt ready to charm someone’s arms off. “Hi, what would you like to – “ he started his usual line, at least, until recognition of the face in front of him sank in. Oh fuck. Oh Merlin, just not that. Bloody hell. He swallowed, and kept going anyway, pretending not to have noticed. “Order?”

The man in front of him seemed just as stunned to see Draco standing there. “Wow. I… really didn’t think I’d run into you here!” Why did his voice sound so… friendly? They were never friends. Draco offered, and was brutally refused. He’d never got over the blow to his ego.

Draco felt the slight heat in his face. He thought he’d gotten over the humiliation of working here after being known as the son of one of the most appreciated wizards, but seeing his arch enemy, the single person who he wished to never see again, the single person who was responsible for the way his life went down the drain, standing right there in front of him, while Draco was dressed in the hideous coffee shop uniform and covered in coffee spots, that was a brand new low for him. Especially when Potter was standing there, looking just like he did when they studied at Hogwarts, only… somehow… better. His dark hair that was always awfully in disarray was still in disarray, but somehow it looked more _organised_ , like he learned to tame it in a way that agreed both with him and with his hair. And he was also dressed in nice robes that suggested that his post-war life had been kind to him.

Not surprising, considering he was the boy who had everything working out well for him. Except, of course, becoming an orphan at the age of one, and having an evil wizard and his whole crew chasing him for the majority of his life. But after he got to Hogwarts, after he won his war, it was clear that things have been getting better for him. the Wizarding World’s war. The same war that Draco lost everything he had at.

“How are you doing? I – “

“Potter, please order, there’s a huge line behind you.” Shit. He didn’t intend his words to come out like this; this cold, this distant, even though a part of him did. He needed to put this distance there. He needed to not acknowledge everything that happened when they were sixteen. It meant nothing. Potter still ruined his life. Still didn’t care for him. Yes, he testified in his favour, in the trial; but he also testified against his father, essentially sending him to prison and Draco’s mom to her current pitiful state. He could see the hurt on Potter’s face, and a part of him regretted the way he responded. “I mean, it’s Monday morning and it’s incredibly busy, I can’t afford to stand here and chat… So… uh… what would you like to drink?” 

The hurt expression on Potter’s face softened, and a hint of his previous smile (why was he smiling at the sight of Draco to begin with?) returned. “Just coffee, please. Black with one sugar.”

“Espresso, you mean?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry.” That smile again, now with just a little bit of bashfulness. Was it the slight drowsiness of the morning, or the haze that always held onto Draco when the shop was too busy, or did that smile really make stupid Potter’s face just a bit less repulsive? Not like the face he was wearing all through school, with his annoying martyr aura and skin that was just dark enough to make Draco think about nice beaches and swimming suits and anything that wasn’t the darkness of his life at that time. “Espresso with one sugar, no milk. Thanks.”

Draco offered a smile, and was surprised to realise it wasn’t the same as the smile he gave most customers: that I-am-forced-to-twist-my-mouth-that-way-but-please-fuck-off kind of smile; this smile was more genuine, and he felt it reaching his chest, too. “Coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

Draco turned from him to write his name on an espresso cup, which he handed to the barista behind him, then turned back. “That’ll be 20 Knuts, please.” Potter paid, and was about to move to clear the way for the next customer, but instead, stopped and turned back to look at Draco.

“Say, how about we get together someday, to catch up?”

Catching up? With Harry Potter? That sounded surreal and it caught him completely by surprise. “What? No.”

Again, that look oh hurt on Potter’s face. Why did it make Draco feel like his own chest was shrinking? He hated him. He was the bane of his existence. He was the reason for all the bad fortune that came upon him. Draco frowned to himself and turned towards the next client, taking his order. From the corner of his eye he could see Potter walking away towards the waiting spot.

Draco busied himself with the next client, trying to hear the name he was saying (Eren? Evan? Maybe Draco had a minor hearing problem… or maybe he just didn’t care enough) when his view of an irritated teenage wizard was blocked by the view of another, equally irritated young wizard. Draco blinked, uncertain why Potter insisted on making this Monday so much worse than it already was.

“Why not?” He asked. The look on his face was of that annoying, notorious determination he had, ever since Draco first met him, back when they were merely eleven years old. “Don’t you want a start-over?”

A start-over? With… Potter? “Why would I?” he asked back. On the other side of his counter the line was getting longer, and Eren, or Evan, whatever his name was, was getting an even more irritated look. Draco felt the anxiety building inside him. Why couldn’t Potter get it? Why couldn’t he understand that he’s the last person on Earth Draco wanted to see? Why couldn’t he understand that it fucking _hurt_ to see him? To hear his name? Why couldn’t he understand that he symbolized everything that Draco could have had, but didn’t?

“Just leave it, Potter.”

“Why?”

The line got longer, and people started complaining. Behind him, his manager yelled his name, telling him to get back to work. Draco looked at Potter, with the answers-demanding look on his face. Why couldn’t he understand that now wasn’t the time for this discussion? Draco felt the familiar choking feeling in his throat. This… this was getting too much. “Just because, Potter! I have work to do, I – “

“I’ll come back later then. When are you off?”

Draco felt both like he was about to explode, the complaints from the people in the line getting louder – and like all the fighting air he had held up inside him have deflated. “Four.”

A smile. A stupid, bloody smile. Why did it move his heart like that? He hated him. Hated him and his stupid messy hair that always made him think about warm sheets and his stupid green eyes that always felt like you were the only thing they cared about in the entire world when they were looking at you. Hated how his smiles always lit up his entire face, adding a spark to those stupid pretty eyes. “I’ll be here.”

“Whatever,” Draco said, and turned back towards his client, trying to ignore his boss yelling at him still. Today at four. Why did that thought make his heart flutter in his chest?


End file.
